Get A Job
by smgg
Summary: Buffy shakes her moneymaker.


GET A JOB

By SMGG

"You want me to do WHAT?"

Giles turned a rosy pink and began to polish his glasses furiously. It didn't seem nearly adequate, so he wandered over to the table and began to fumble with the tea things. 'A cuppa would be nice about now,' he thought.

"It is necessary, Buffy, though tawdry to be sure, and there is no one else," Giles said firmly.

"That speech would be so much more effective if you could bring yourself to look at me while you say it."

Giles sighed. "Who," he began.

"What about Miss Leather Cleavage here?" Buffy poked a finger in Faith's direction.

"Gee thanks, B. Makes a girl feel all warm and special." Faith somehow managed to do a quick bump and grind without standing up.

"Or Cordelia." Buffy was beginning to fume and sputter. "She's a cheerleader."

Cordelia straightened up. "A cheerleader is NOT a stripper."

"Same diff," Buffy shrugged. "Shake your booty, flash the crowd."

"Can I just say," Xander said…

"NO," the girls chorused.

"I think," he continued, "that all these girls are hugely qualified and I volunteer to be Bosely to their angelic selves."

"In your dreams, dork," Cordelia snorted.

"I'm afraid that 'girls' is the key word here," Giles interrupted. "Without delving into…qualifications," he winced, "Buffy is the only one with a birthday in January. She's the only one of you girls who is already 18."

"Have you never heard of the fake ID?" Buffy pouted. "It's a time-honored high school tradition."

"I'd really rather not break any laws we don't actually have to."

"Hear, hear," Wesley said, and Buffy glared at him.

"I think Princess Margaret here wants to see you naked, B."

"We can get Buffy on the inside, then use Faith as a job applicant and back-up as needed. Regardless of other, uhm, qualifications, we know these two can take care of themselves."

"Sure," Faith said, "and I already have my own fake ID to go with my QUALIFICATIONS." She hefted her boobs. "No need for any reckless law breaking by the watcher-boys because I've already broken it for you."

"How reassuring," Giles murmured, then continued, "Angel can watch your backs…"

"Oh, I bet he will," Faith said, "but let's be careful B's 'back' doesn't give him such a happy that he switches teams."

Xander scowled, and Buffy flashed Faith a lethal glare. "No more jokes about that," she snapped.

"Touchy," Faith said, but let it drop.

"So," Buffy began, and sat down before continuing. "It's public humiliation time for Buffy the schoolgirl stripper. I'm the naked bait, and Angel's my watchdog."

"He has the teeth for it," Cordelia pointed out.

"Just so," Giles agreed.

"I don't like it," Xander said.

"We know what you don't like, jealousy boy," Cordelia said.

"So, B. Following orders like a good girl."

"I'm taking direction. Reluctantly. For now. Don't believe it till you see me out there naked doing the hootchy-coo."

Xander had a stupefied look.

"I'd pay to see that," Faith said, "and I know Xander would.

The real issue in Buffy's mind was whether she could even get the job, never mind do it. Would anybody hire HER to strip, and could she make herself do it if they did? How could she find the demon that was slicing and dicing Sunnydale's dancers if she couldn't get the job? Who could she ask for help? If she tried to practice, how would she do it and who would she get to watch? She darted a glance at Giles and cringed. She didn't want Giles to see her grind and wiggle. It would be like having your dad coach you through a grope session in the back seat. Besides Giles couldn't look her in the face NOW. He was too busy polishing and re-polishing his glasses.

Xander was far too excited already, Angel would spontaneously combust from jealous rage and sexual repression. Only Faith and Cordelia were remotely qualified to help her, and she was mortified at the very thought. No way she was giving them the chance to laugh at her and humiliate her. Really, there was only one person she could even think of asking. What's a best friend for, no matter how innocent and unqualified she is?

"Say things like 'shake your moneymaker,' 'pole dance' and 'g-string,'" Willow said. "Stripper talk. You'll blend right in."

"How would you know? And you would know that how?"

"Umm…I heard."

"So, 'shake my money maker,' 'g-string' and 'shiver me timbers.'"

"That's pirate talk."

When she finished her audition, Buffy, shaky and dry-mouthed, looked over at the manager.

"Don't have much of a routine, do you kid? You got no experience at all. No act."

The flush already visible on Buffy's body deepened a shade and spread. Her shoulders sagged. Weighed and found wanting by Mr. Stogie Comb-over. Maybe Angelus had been telling the truth. Not good. She snuck a glance down at her pert and firm but modest-sized boobs, now on display for Comb-over, Mop-boy and Beer-delivery-guy. Only Beer-guy seemed really interested. Buffy flashed a shy, grateful smile at Beer-guy. Beer-guy stood taller, sucked in his gut and beamed at Buffy.

Suddenly Comb-over looked only half-asleep, and Buffy went on offense. "I think my lack of experience at this and…other things, my obvious, visible lack of experience is an asset you and I can exploit to our mutual profit."

Comb-over, entirely against his will and his natural instincts, looked almost interested.

"I know you've got some college girls here, or so the sign says, but how many high school girls you got?" Buffy arched her back and raised her eyebrows.

Mop-boy stopped and looked up at the nearly nude vision before him, his glazed eyes clearing as her words penetrated the fog of an epic hangover and an even more epic stupidity. "Dude," he whispered hoarsely. Beer-guy was turning pink and had begun to hiss like a leaky radiator, edging closer to Buffy and patting his hair.

"High school," Comb-over repeated.

"Born January 19th, 1981. A senior in high school. All innocent and everything." Buffy tried to look coyly seductive, instead of as embarrassed, awkward and tawdry as she felt.

Comb-over smiled for the first time in—well who knew how long? "High school girl," he said again, rolling the words over his tongue and savoring them. "Just barely legal. What did you say your name was?"

"Blaze."

"That ain't your name, kid."

"It is now. Just concentrate on the 'kid' part and happy visions of your bank account's future—our bank accounts."

"Blaze," he pondered the name. "It's been done you know."

"A classic can always be revisited," Beer-guy said.

"We can work with it." Comb-over shrugged. "Blaze the craze. A Blaze of female glory. Little Blaze."

Buffy made a face at "little." "School daze with Blaze," she said.

Comb-over grinned. "That's 'D' 'a' 'z' 'e'?"

"Oh, of course," Buffy agreed solemnly.

"Kid, you and me are gonna shake 'em up. Great balls of fire! You'll be like the date they always want but never get. The really hot girl who can dance, and gets drunker and drunker, and then takes her clothes off."

"Dream-date Barbie, that's me."

"And I know just the music. Oldies party music—frat rock and garage bands. Most of these guy's are drunks who're in a frat now or used to be once. They'll eat it up. That way you don't even have to know much about stripping. You CAN dance, right?"

Buffy ripped off a few beats of hip-shaking, boob-jiggling boogey, and there was a moment of awed silence as Comb-over shot a grateful glance heavenward and then beamed at Buffy while Beer-guy and Mop-boy, brothers now in the beatitude of Buffy, high-fived each other as they luxuriated in the sublime.

"Fuck," Comb-over said. "Drunk, horny yuppies in a nostalgic rage will bury this stage in money."

"While I shake my moneymaker," Buffy said and did.

"Glory halleluiah," Beer-guy shouted.

"Amen," Comb-over said.

Buffy was hired.

THE END

5


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